


ophelia in shimmersilk

by andorgyny



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, also, bisexual!mara jade, memories and trauma, poor mara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andorgyny/pseuds/andorgyny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murder and introspection at the opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ophelia in shimmersilk

When she was nine, Mara received a gift from the Emperor. He sent her to the Imperial Grand Opera House to see the soprano Marlij Senoh perform. She wore a fancy dress with her red-gold curls piled up on her head.

It was her first trip outside of the Imperial Palace that she could remember. Out of the shadows, she blinked as the sunlight flashed off of the skyscrapers around her. One of her tutors stood just slightly behind her as she climbed into the speeder.

The slender vibroblade her master had given her was nestled safely in her bodice until it flew through the air from behind the curtain and silenced the soprano’s aria just before it ended. Screams tore through the audience as Senoh fell to her knees, the knife sticking out from the back of her neck.

“Madame Senoh is a tool, my dear,” her master had said. “The owner of this particular establishment has taken advantage of my considerable kindness for years. I'm afraid in order to teach him a lesson, we must take advantage of his rather lax security measures.”

“Why her; why not him?”

“Sometimes we must sacrifice innocents for the greater good. In the end, nothing can ever be more important than the stability of this Empire.”

Of course, there was more to the story than the Emperor had ever seen fit to tell her: that Marlij Senoh had rebuffed the advances of one Moff or another, that the owner of the Imperial Grand Opera House was a valuable informant for Imperial Intelligence, that the whole thing was a final test to prove her worth.

Twenty-three years later, Mara sat in Leia Organa-Solo’s exclusive box at the renamed Coruscant Grand Opera House, the velvet cushion scratchy against her bare shoulders. The little details remained the same as she remembered from her childhood, despite the name change. Gilded ceiling, deep burgundy curtains, fine wood furnishings…

Even the soprano, a gorgeous Twi’lek woman who went by her first name only, wore a gown so similar to Marlij Senoh’s that Mara had to remind herself of the impossibility of time travel.

There were some significant differences, most notably in the audience. While most attendees came from great wealth, they were largely non-human.

“You’re thinking too hard,” came a soft voice from beside her. Luke Skywalker gazed with seemingly rapt attention at the stage. “Some of us are trying to listen to the illustrious Selona sing the Felusii Canon,” he added, looking down at his program.

She rolled her eyes. “You just think she’s hot,” she whispered back. Mara did too, but that was beside the point.

Skywalker frowned at her but didn’t argue. Mostly because his sister was glaring daggers at him from her place two seats down.

Just so you know, you’re definitely not her type.

Skywalker glanced at her. Is it the blond thing?

That, and you're a man.

The Jedi Master left her alone after that, for which she was grateful. A row back, she could feel the intensity of Karrde’s gaze on her, although he’d been looking at her oddly all night.

Her boss was probably the most perceptive man she had ever met, save for perhaps Skywalker or Palpatine. Maybe Solo, when he wasn’t being a damn fool.

It was also possible that he could see the blood on the stage as well as she could. Or at least, he could have read about the murder at the time.

The invitation had been extended to Karrde’s entire crew after an incident involving a treasonous minister and his Bothan girlfriend the week before. If Mara had been able to do so without insulting the Chief of State, she would have turned it down. This place held ashes in its walls.

The dust may have settled, but the memories remained. The rushing adrenaline, the pride she felt because her very first mission was a success.

And the man sitting beside her wanted Mara Jade to become a Jedi. Even knowing who she was, what she did in the service of evil incarnate.

Mara believed in second chances; but not everyone deserved them as much as others did.

Some didn’t deserve them at all.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Skywalker’s stricken expression.

Stay out of my head, you nerf.

The concert ended to roaring applause. Mara leaned over to say her goodbyes to the Solos before Organa-Solo got ideas.

“We’re stopping by for drinks at Rendico’s,” the Chief-of-State said, standing up from her seat with a well-concealed stretch. “You’re welcome to join us, Mara.”

“I’m behind on work as it is. Thanks, though.”

“Next time, then.” The Alderaanian woman politely shook her hand and turned away to another dignitary.

Turning around, she nearly rolled her eyes at the look on Karrde’s face. “Goodnight boss,” she said firmly.

“See you on Plooma,” he replied. She sighed and finally chanced a glance at the man who stood beside her with an all too familiar Farmboy glint in his blue eyes.

“Mara--”

“Bye, Skywalker. Nice talking.”

She hurried out of the box and into the hallway, the gold shimmersilk of her gown fluttering behind her legs in the wake of her brisk pace. When at last she felt that she had escaped Skywalker’s attention, she studied her surroundings with a furrowed brow. There were two staircases carpeted in rich crimson at the end of the dimly lit corridor. Unless she wanted to continue down toward the bustling traffic of the grand foyer, and no doubt run into acquaintances she was not interested in seeing again for some time, she would need to go up.

The last time Mara was here, the attic had been full of lush costumes tumbling from exquisite mahogany trunks, women in lingerie and heavy rouge, the slightly bitter, slightly sweet scent of rootsmoke hanging on the air. That had been at nineteen, when she had been ordered to expose the heavy criminality of an increasingly influential military man, this time acting as a delightful member of the house’s dance troupe.

Everyone had been so high on root and pills, not to mention the heady and very illicit glitterstim, that nobody had noticed sweet little Arica Alie messing with handsome General Ebesco behind the coromandel.

Gazing at the dusty coromandel standing in the corner, she forced herself to unclench her fists and settle her breathing, not daring to touch the Force lest she broadcast herself to the man she absolutely does not want to see.

Her mark had been so young, in his mid twenties, and undeniably attractive. Despite her official status in the regime, Mara had never been with a man before (a female tutor had entranced her into a short-lived affair the year before but nothing had ever come of it, and besides, Palpatine would have disapproved. Murderously.) In the end, sex was a tool and a weapon.

The Emperor had never outright told her to seduce Ebesco, but then he usually did leave the specifics up to her.

A traitor to the Empire he almost certainly had been, even if he had always been genial and had worn a nice smile. His execution had been horrifyingly public, his mother and younger sister in the front row. Mara hadn’t gone.

“There are a lot of ghosts here.” Mara nearly started at Skywalker’s voice. She glared at the coromandel. “I can almost hear them crying out, but that might just be my stomach.”

“You should go with your family for drinks if you’re so hungry.”

He approached her slowly, like she was something dangerous (and she was, to him, to herself, to everyone she lo--

Oh, but not that. Never that. Love was something she forfeited the right to a long time ago.)

“I should,” he began. “But I’m a little more interested in all these ghosts.”

She turned to face him. “You’re an idiot. They’re better off left well alone by farmboys. Ghosts can be dangerous.” Like me, she didn’t bother adding.

“Probably. But then I’ve also learned a thing or two about dangerous people.” She lifted a brow.

“Not to get on their nerves?”

He smiled faintly and shook his head. “Never got around to that lesson.”

She snorted. “Clearly.”

He ignored her. “See, dangerous people come in many forms: some are deeply, uniquely cruel and sinister; some are wrapped in anger and regret. Some are victims of terrible, terrible circumstances, circumstances that shape them into unknowing weapons.”

“Which am I?” she asked, irritated and desperate for an absolution he could not give. “The weaponized victim with no control over her actions?”

Skywalker watched her for a moment, his bright blue eyes entirely too warm and understanding for her tastes. “Mara, I was hidden from my own father in the hopes that I would someday kill him and the Emperor, and restore balance to the Force.”

“But you didn’t.”

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “No, I didn’t. Had I not listened to the Force, the Emperor would probably be alive right now. That kind of power, to be at the crux of everything, is more dangerous than any one person could ever be.” She turned away, reaching out to touch the coromandel screen. Mara frowned. “But you were not just a victim, Mara Jade. You were a traumatized child in a cold, loveless world, forced to do unspeakable things. Dangerous, maybe at one time, but we both know time has changed you.”

She shook her head. “Why are you here?”  
Skywalker paused. She heard him breathe deeply for a moment. “Well?”

“Because no one as luminous as you are should ever hate herself.”

Mara turned sharply to face him. “I don’t hate myself!” But even as she spoke, a little voice in her head laughed and called her a liar.

“Okay,” he replied. “Just remember that I destroyed the Death Star and celebrated. So don’t think you’re the only one with blood on your hands.”

“Did you get a lot of free drinks that night?”

He grinned. “So many I was sick for days.”

“Well, I’ll buy you a drink, but only if you get the cab.”

“What? I thought you didn’t want to get drunk with my sister.”

She shrugged. “I don’t, but it’s better than ghosthunting.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
